“I think it extremely probable,” declared Anthony. “And the question is what is it that’s attracting him there? That’s what we’ve got to find out—that’s why I’ve told you.”
“Did he get in do you think?” queried Peter, “because if he did, the mischief’s done.”
“Not he,” grinned Anthony. “Sergeant Clegg saw to that, quite thoroughly. Now come along over to the other side. We’ll see if we can run across Patrick O’Connor.”
Maidment, the gardener, was earthing up potatoes in the kitchen garden as they approached. He straightened himself as he wished them “Good morning.”
“O’Connor,” he said, in answer to Anthony’s question. “You’ll find him up there in the potting-shed.” He pointed past the cucumber frames that lay on his right to a shed at the end of the path. “Perhaps you’d like me to be accompanying you?” he continued. “Maybe I’ll be able to help you?”
Anthony waved his offer on one side. “Thanks—but we’ll see him alone—you stay here.”
As they reached the shed, a tall lad stepped out, and Bathurst immediately recognized that here was a case of inherited physique. He seemed surprised to see his visitors and made as though to turn back into the potting-shed.
Anthony touched him on the arm—then bent down and whispered something into his ear. The lad’s face cleared and he beckoned them inside.
“You gentlemen gave me a bit of a start,” he declared. “I’m a bit jumpy I suppose since yesterday. This sort of thing gets on your nerves, you know, sir—you can’t help it.”
Peter Daventry wondered what the message was that Bathurst had passed on. What possible connection could there be between the two of them? But his wonderings were summarily cut short. Anthony’s next remark showed that he was speedily getting to business.